She danced naked in the rain, her palms upward to accept the droplets of moisture. Captivated by her own imagination, lost in a world of her own creation, a world where outsiders weren't welcome, she ... [+]
trying my hand again at Selby Jr. in my comfortable apartment with a balcony in the Dublin northside. Last Exit doesn't work now and neither does Requiem. I first came across them in elbowish rooms in Toronto and the north end of London. something of the copper of bones here, I thought. something of life—a toilet by the stove and four feet from the bedclothes. and art needs discomfort to appreciate properly. Selby doesn't function when the water heater does.
